The Mafia's Bride

Chapter 20

                         Hayat

The drive home felt different—not just because I was behind the wheel, but because for the first time, I felt like I had taken a step toward him. A small one, maybe. But it mattered.

He didn’t say much, but I noticed the way his gaze lingered on me, the way his fingers rested loosely near the gear shift, ready to assist if I messed up.

But I didn’t. And he didn’t need to step in. Maybe that was the point.

We pulled into the driveway, and I turned the engine off. My hands were still on the wheel when I glanced at him.

“You’re quiet,” I said.

He looked at me for a moment, then offered a soft, rare smile. “I was just thinking... you surprise me a lot.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“The best kind,” he replied.

And just like that, the awkwardness that had wrapped around our marriage began to loosen—thread by thread.

We stepped inside, and Fatima Bay greeted us with a warm smile, telling us dinner was already done, but neither of us was really hungry anymore. Not for food, at least.

We went up to the room. He moved to the couch, like always, pulling the blanket over himself while I changed into my nightwear. I sat on the bed, scrolling through my phone for a moment before glancing at him.

“Hey, Hazar?”

He looked up, half-asleep. “Hmm?”

“Thanks… for today. For letting me try.”

He blinked slowly, then nodded. “Always, Hayat.”

And even though we were still learning, still strangers in a marriage neither of us expected to begin this way—tonight, felt like the beginning of something real.

***

It’s been a week since the drive, and somehow things are changing. Not drastically, but little by little. We’re not complete strangers anymore.
Here I am, sitting on my prayer mat, thinking about everything that has happened over the past week.

I made evening tea and snacks for us, and we had them in the balcony of our room—with small conversations, soft silences, and the quiet comfort of shared space.

We’ve been having dinner together every single day.

I’ve started learning his favorite music, though every night before bed, I still play my playlist—even though he says it’s a bit chaotic. He never complains though. Just teases.

We even went for a morning walk together once. He doesn’t talk much during those walks, but I’ve come to enjoy the quiet beside him.

A few days ago, I helped him pick a shirt for a meeting. He didn’t ask me to—but he didn’t say no either.

He even helps me make the bed every night. Doesn’t ask. Just does it. That small act—it stays with me.

Last night, I saw him smiling at something I said. A real, warm, genuine smile. The pretty one that he rarely shows. And it… did something to my heart. Something soft. Something scary.

It’s almost night now. I look out of the window, my thoughts scattered like stars, when the washroom door opens, revealing Hazar in grey trousers and a black t-shirt. The shirt clings slightly to his broad shoulders, and his hair is still dripping water onto the floor.

I didn’t notice I was staring until he called out to me.

“Are you done with the prayer, Ayat?” he asked, towel in hand, ruffling his damp hair.